


When We Go Home Again

by PhryneFicathon, Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Homecoming, Prompt Fic, no smut this time, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-07 04:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: For the prompts “Family of Choice” &this photo; plus maybe a little bit “Phryne & Prudence Stanley.” Thank you, prompter for this combination - I absolutely lovePractical Magic, and the idea of that impromptu midnight party was where I started. I hope it lives up to your expectations!





	When We Go Home Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hismissus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hismissus/gifts).



> The title is from the poem Home by Esther M. Clark Hill, which was published in a compilation called _The Call of Kansas and Other Poems_ ; “Home” was reprinted in _The Kansas City Star_ in 1920. I love it!

The windows at the front of her house were dark; even the light on the porch remained unlit on this sweltering December night. It was understandable, really—it was very late, nearly midnight, and they weren’t expecting her until tomorrow. Phryne gave a moment’s regretful thought to the telegram she’d sent informing the household of her return. She’d been too generous in her estimate of how long the journey would take, but she couldn’t have anticipated how easy the flight would be. She hoped that Mr. Butler would maintain his legendary aplomb when confronted with her early arrival. And that her room was ready for her. Easy or not, it had been a very long flight.

“Pull around to the side, please.”

The cabbie, an older man with none of the charisma or charm of her red raggers, nodded and obliged. As they passed, she admired the front of her house with its creamy yellow walls and red-painted ironwork. There was nothing like it where she’d been, and she could feel its welcome even from here. They rounded the corner and Phryne’s heart leaped at the sight of her treasured Hispano-Suiza nestled snugly under its carport, its bonnet gleaming softly in the light from the street lamps. _Home, home, home_. The word was a pulse beating at the base of her throat, and she felt her spirits lifting as it repeated. Even if no one was awake to welcome her, it would be enough for tonight just to be in her own space with her own things.

“Just here,” she said, her hand on the door latch. 

There was her fernery and the small, winding path that led to the kitchen door. And was that a glimmer of light she saw through the greenery? Her heart was beating fast, hope and anticipation firing through her veins and giving her flagging body a boost of energy. She’d missed them—Dot and Hugh, Mr. Butler, Jane, Bert and Cec, Mac, Jack, and even her aunt Prudence. Knowing they were in Melbourne had made London so much less tempting; even disregarding her parents’ presence—and she endeavored to always do that—she’d enjoyed her stay in England, but a part of her had yearned for Australia and the family she had here.

As soon as the driver stopped the car, she had the door open and her foot on the ground. The cabbie joined her at the boot, lifting out the satchel that had been her only luggage on the long flight and accepting the fare she traded for it before wordlessly tipping his hat to her.

Satchel in hand, Phryne walked briskly toward the kitchen door. As she rounded the curve in the fernery path, she saw the light again, shining its welcome warmth out into the night. She approached quietly, thankful for the soft soles of her flying boots, and peeked carefully through the window, a happy gasp catching in her throat.

Her family sat talking around the table, each holding a cup of something. Dot poured hot cocoa from a small pan into Hugh’s cup as Jane watched; Mr. Butler was just pouring a dram of whiskey into Mac’s teacup; Cec munched on a biscuit, nodding as Bert punctuated whatever he was saying with a jab of his; and Jack sat at the far end of the table, his eyes amused as he listened to the conversation flowing around him. 

As Phryne stood there, taking them all in—they were beautiful to her eyes after so long away—Jack looked up. His amused look vanished and he stood abruptly, his expression flowing from surprise into what looked suspiciously like joy. The rest of the folks at the table froze at his sudden movement, a tableau worthy of any painter.

His lips shaped the words “Miss Fisher” as he moved around the table to the kitchen door, everyone’s heads swiveled to watch him move. Phryne pulled back from the window and went to stand beside the door, out of sight. The lock clicked, and she could hear Bert’s voice as it opened.

“She’s not due till tomorrow, mate.” The correction was gentle, and she could imagine Bert casting a glance at Cec that said it was sad that the inspector was losing his mind.

“I do so love to exceed expectations,” she remarked, taking the step that would frame her in the doorway, her eyes on Jack, whose smile stretched his mouth wide and warmed her to her soul.

“Always one step ahead,” he murmured, holding out a hand to draw her into the kitchen. 

She took it, squeezing softly as she stepped through the door and pandemonium erupted. Shouts of welcome echoed and she was swept inside. Her satchel was taken away, her traveling coat removed along with her scarf and hat, and she was passed from embrace to embrace as first Dot, then Jane, and finally Mac wrapped their arms around her.

Someone pressed a glass of whiskey into her hand, and someone else cranked up the record player, lights turning on throughout the main level of the house as the babble of voices rose around her. Laughing, Phryne found herself standing in front of the fireplace in her parlor—cold now, but no less inviting—a whiskey in her hand, her partner watching her from where he was propped in the doorway, her ward held close to her side, and so many of her dear ones ranged around the room, expressions of delight on their faces.

Finally, the noise died down enough that she could hear Dot’s words.

“We weren’t sure what time to expect you tomorrow, and we all wanted to be here,” she was saying.

“And I am so glad you did,” Phryne said. “I’ve missed you all.” She hugged Jane closer and pressed a kiss to the girl’s head. Was she taller? 

“Melbourne has been terribly dull without you,” Mac spoke up from her position on the chaise. “Even the murderers seem to have lost their spark.” A ripple of laughter went around the room, and Phryne’s smile widened.

“I have gifts for all of you, but they’re packed in my trunks, which will be arriving at the docks in another week or two,” Phryne said. 

She looked around the room, her eyes pausing on them, one by one. These people were her family, though she’d never really looked for them. In this room, she had sisters, brothers, a daughter, a father, and… well, she didn’t feel particularly familial about Jack, but he was part of her family as well. 

“I missed you all,” she said, and her voice cracked just a little. “So much.”

Jane’s arms tightened around her, and she saw Dot’s fingers touch her mouth as her eyes sheened with tears. The men nodded and smiled, each in his own way, and Mac tossed back her drink—perhaps there hadn’t been any tea at all in that cup—and stood.

“Right,” Mac said, setting her cup on the table and motioning to Bert and Cec to move it out of the way. “You’re home at last, you gypsy, and we are ready to welcome you. Jack, turn up the music; Mr. B, if you’d handle the refreshments? I think our long lost hostess needs a dance.” She held out a hand to Phryne, who laughed and took it, setting her own whiskey glass on the mantel. 

The music swelled, an upbeat jazz tune that was nothing if not danceable—Jack stood beside the gramophone, watching her with that little smile that mostly lived in his eyes—and though Phryne wished for a moment that she’d had time to change into a party dress, it didn’t seem to matter. She let her best friend pull her into a dance, feeling the space open up as the others dragged furniture out of the way. 

She danced, moving from partner to partner, accepting cheek kisses or laughing, smacking kisses on the lips—Bert could be such a bounder—as she was twirled through song after song, the music rising. The laughter and music rose in the room, and she imagined it floating through the quiet house and out of the windows and roof, a current of joy that would lift up anyone who encountered it. 

“What on earth is going on here?” The sharp words cut through the hubbub and Phryne whirled to find her aunt standing in the doorway to the parlor, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her small, round figure. “Phryne, is that you?”

“Aunt P!” Phryne practically caroled the words as she rushed over to press a kiss to her aunt’s cheek; Jack had lifted the arm of the record player, and the room was suddenly silent. “I didn’t realize you were here. I returned earlier than expected, and, well…” She waved a hand at the rest of the company, whose chagrined expressions told her that they’d forgotten her aunt was in the house.

“I gathered as much from the volume of the celebration,” Prudence said with a sniff, raking her gaze over the others in the room before returning her gaze to Phryne. Her mouth softened then. “Welcome home, my dear girl.” She held out her hands, and Phryne took them, squeezing lightly.

“Brandy, Mrs. Stanley?” Mr. Butler was there at Prudence’s elbow, her aunt’s preferred libation held at the ready. He caught Phryne’s gaze and she pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at the wicked twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, well, if you insist,” the older woman said, releasing Phryne’s hands to accept the snifter Mr. B held out to her. 

“Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Stanley?” Dorothy was there at her aunt’s other side, smoothly guiding her to one of the room’s armchairs that had been pulled out of the way of the dancing but had an excellent view of the room.

“Thank you, Dorothy.” Settling herself in the chair, her ankles demurely crossed, Phryne’s aunt waved a small, plump hand. “Carry on.” She sipped her drink, and Phryne moved closer to press another kiss to her cheek. This woman, for all her gruff ways, had become more of a mother than Phryne’s own.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Aunt P,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.” Pretending not to notice the pleased blush that lit the older woman’s cheek, Phryne whirled back to the room, moving over to restart the music. “Let’s dance! Come on, then, Jack,” she grabbed his hand, ignoring his stammered protests to drag him into the center of the room. 

“Miss Fisher, I don’t think—” 

“Don’t think, Jack,” she said, turning to face him and tugging his arm up to place it at the small of her back, her other hand resting on his lapel. “Just…” she met his eyes, hoping that her own could convey the sincerity of what she was about to say. “Just dance with me. I missed you.”

He nodded, a small movement—that was his way, most of the time—and covered her hand on his chest with his, tugging her closer before beginning to lead her into a dance. The noise level in the room grew as first Dot and Hugh, then Jane with Cec, joined them on the impromptu dance floor. Phryne’s smile grew as Jack showed that he could dance quite well, as she’d guessed from their waltz; he tilted and twirled her, but never let go of her hand.

“No welcome home kiss?” She murmured the words close to his ear during one of the turns of their dance; he twirled her out again, his handsome face serious and his mouth slightly open.

When he pulled her close again, he responded. “I am hoping for a less public moment.” His deep voice was a caress, and his fingers stroked her side as they moved together through the dance.

“Still interested in that romantic overture, inspector?” The heat from his body should have been uncomfortable, given the weather, but Phryne found herself basking in it. Or maybe she was just basking in his presence, practically in her arms. She’d imagined this too many times to count over the past months. He hadn’t been able to come after her physically, as she’d hoped, but he had pursued her nonetheless—his letters had been frequent and very, very welcome.

“Actually, I was thinking I might improve upon it.” 

As he spoke, her eyes dropped to his lips, her mind conjuring the memory of that kiss at the airfield. Surely it can’t have been as life-changing as she remembered? Still, his words aligned with the fantasies she’d nurtured while she was away, in London and during the long hours in the air en route both ways.

“Perhaps in a more intimate setting?” The whispered words felt like velvet stroking her skin, and Phryne watched the corners of his mouth curl first down, then up, a small jewel of a smile that she treasured.

“I like the sound of that,” she murmured in response, her eyes returning to his. 

Promise made and accepted, they threw themselves back into the dancing. Even when someone else whirled her away—Mr. Butler was an excellent dancer—Phryne knew that they’d begun something momentous, and as much as she was enjoying this welcome home, she could hardly wait till they could take those next steps. Perhaps she’d invite him to dinner tomorrow, and this time, she’d be able to seduce him properly. The thought made her smile widen.

That was, however, a thought for another day. Right now, she wanted to revel in her family, in the resumption of her real life. She’d likely travel again, but travel wasn’t nearly as fun without a home to come back to. These people, all of them, were her home.


End file.
